A Birthday Gone Awry
by araeofsomething
Summary: Hermione's Birthday, breakfast in bed, and kneazles tearing the shite out of stuff.


_AN: Hi! It's actually MY birthday today and since I never seem to have a great time on my actual birthday, I thought I'd give Hermione what I wanted. ;) This OS is dedicated to all those moms out there who have shite birthdays. lol Thanks to SweetTale4u, I've decided to reschedule my birthday for Saturday, April 11th. Send me pressies then! lol  
_

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The smell of breakfast wafting near her nose woke Hermione. Her hair was in tangles around her face as she felt the other side of the bed and discovered it cold. And yet, there was the heavenly smell of bacon and eggs with a nice toasted smell of bread. She hoped it was slathered in butter.

Opening one eye, she saw her black-clothed lover at close range with her food and a smirk. She muttered, "Loo," and made a dive to the bathroom to use the facilities and brush her teeth properly. That wine they'd imbibed the night before at Harry's engagement party had left a sour taste in her mouth.

She splashed some cold water on her face to fully wake up and took stock of herself in the mirror before her. Wildly unhappy hair, a bit of bleary eye, but her coloring was good and her breath was fresh. She was debating flossing, if only briefly, before her companion rumbled, "It's getting cold, Miss Granger. Best have at it. Now." She could hear a bit of scuffling, possibly hissing, outside her door and wondered what he was up to.

Pulling her hair back she returned to their bedroom and adjusted her squashy pillows before sitting back against them. She wondered if she should pull down the hem of his shirt that she'd borrowed and decided against it. He'd learned to like a little thigh and a peek of lace in the morning.

"Are you sufficiently settled?" he sneered, wielding a breakfast tray full of delicious things.

As Hermione nodded affirmatively, he swooped the tray down over her lap and proceeded to dip the edge of his robes in her pumpkin juice. He cursed under his breath and grabbed at his robes. "My apologies. I'll return shortly-" he made to leave.

Hermione took up her wand from the nightstand and waved it to clean his robes. "There. You're fine. What?" She took a bit of toast and set the wand aside at his frustrated demeanor.

"I can't – stay. I have to... go," Severus Snape, who'd never run from anything that she'd known, proceeded to run from their bedroom into their library and study, cursing. "Bloody buggering hell! Little shites. Oh, you better _not_ have …."

She set the tray aside and walked after him into the connecting study, "What the feck is going on? Oh my word. Severus. You didn't!"

Two kneazles had taken up residence in Severus' inner robe pocket. One dark as pitch, and one white as snow. They were systematically clawing the shite out of the robes that Severus was trying to completely take off. The pitch kneazle had just – "Oh Severus! Stop. Stop! It's peeing... oh ugh..."

Hermione helped her errant companion dislodge the robe and throw it to the floor so that the kittens could romp and destroy it as they liked while their new owners spoke to one another.

"I told you I was never very good at surprises," he said as she came to put her arms around him, resting her head against his heart, laughing. "Oh, Severus. All that matters is that you even thought to try." She kissed him languidly as the kittens tore apart the rest of the former Professor's robes.

When they came up for air, he cleared his throat. "I would like to say that I'm sorry. I know how much Crookshanks meant to you. He enjoyed a long life until old age claimed him. And it would please me if you would choose one of those furballs as your new familiar." His eyes crinkled as a half-smile formed, "Happy birthday Hermione."

Her eyes had pricked with tears; a hard man, Severus was hardly ever given to grand gestures of a sensitive nature. This was a serious and meaningful moment in their life together.

Hermione gazed adoringly at Severus, and then turned to watch the kitten kneazles in their destruction. To choose only one would perhaps not show her proper appreciation of his thoughtful gifts. Breakfast in bed... and kneazles. Really, besides a book, who could ask for more?

She took his pale hand in hers to squeeze, and returned his steady gaze. "Thank you so much, love. I think we should keep ... _both_." And then she snogged the bloody hell out of him.

She missed his eyes widening in horror; he wondered how many more robes he'd have to declare ruined due to those furry little cretins. In the end though, he knew her happiness was worth it.


End file.
